The Martyr
by vivalablond
Summary: It astounded Enjolras that such a person, surrounded by despicable parents and terrible circumstances, despite her horrible upbringing, was capable of such undying affection, passionate love, and selflessness. And who was Marius to earn a love like that? A love so virtuous and true? How could he be so blind, how could he not see?
1. Hopeless

Passionate.

If there was one word to describe the virtuous Enjolras, that would be it. Passionate, not only in the aspect of liberty, but in all other aspects as well.

Chaste.

Another accurate description. He was the pure, undefiled son of a nobleman. His mind was filled with lofty, unrealistic ideals - the result of living a life free of worry and hardship. He had no idea what sort of tragedy and chaos the real world had in store for him or the band of young rebels he had the privilege of leading.

Eponine, all too familiar with misfortune and harsh reality, had often had to resist scoffing at his lengthy speeches as she listened in with the rest of the boys. But Marius had always had such a high opinion of him, so for his sake, she stayed and listened attentively, keeping quiet.

It was his passion, however, that she admired. The fervent glimmer of hope in his eyes, contagious and bright. The way his usual, serious countenance would briefly give way to the faintest hint of a smile when words such as "liberty", "freedom", and "revolution" spilled forth, their very taste sweet in his mouth.

* * *

Attentive.

Those vigilant, green eyes never missed a thing. He was keen to notice what everyone else seemed to overlook. Like when, on her way to deliver a letter to Marius from Cosette, Grantaire had rudely shoved his way past her as he stumbled to the table to get another drink, causing her to drop the letter and nearly fall flat on her face, if she hadn't braced herself against a wall. Enjolras, who'd been standing nearby discussing plans with a fellow student, did not give her a chance to pick the letter up. Instead, pausing in his conversation, he bent down to take it, and, after a quick glimpse at the envelope, gave an inaudible sigh and handed it to her.

"Not another one." He mumbled. His disapproval of such an inappropriate distraction at a time like this was made quite clear to Eponine, who completely agreed with him.

"I'm only the messenger." She shrugged, hoping he didn't blame her.

"You're alright, I hope?" He asked, referring to Grantaire's rude push a moment ago, touching her elbow lightly, a brief look of concern on his face. "I'm afraid my friend can't keep his wits about him when he's had a bit too much ale."

"S'alright. I've seen plenty a man worse." She replied, glancing at the drunk as he poured himself another tall glass of alcohol.

Enjolras met her gaze for a moment and she could have sworn she saw a look that resembled pity directed at her. Why? Because she'd met her share of drunkards? ...No, wait, it was something more than pity. Compassion, perhaps. She didn't like it. Not from him.

"It's nothing I'm not used to." She added quietly, straightening her shoulders, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under his stare. She didn't like him paying so much close attention to her, a simple street urchin who had no business conversing with a man like him.  
"Have you seen Marius around? He'll be dying to read this." She couldn't help the bitterness in her voice as she searched the crowded room for her beloved.

"You'll find him upstairs. Said he felt a bit tired and wanted to rest." He answered before turning back around to continue his conversation with his friend.

She made her way through the crowd, gripping the letter tightly in her hand, willing herself not to rip it to shreds.

* * *

When she'd come back downstairs, nearly all the young men had left, gone home for the night. She made her way down the stairs slowly, one hand sliding down it's balustrade, the other wiping away at a few stray tears as she thought about Marius sitting up in his room, writing down his declarations of love for his darling Cosette. She felt sick to her stomach, not sure how much more she could take.

"You're still here?" She heard a lone voice ask.

Enjolras, seated at a table with books and maps before him, had spotted her. She nodded her head by way of responding. She stopped at the last step and sunk down, hugging the banister with one arm, leaning her head against it.

"And you?" She asked, hoping he couldn't see how red her face was from crying. Besides the few candles on the table, there was not much light in the room.

"Yes, I'm...just trying to plan out our next course of action." The momentary pause and his knitted brows revealing his confusion and stress.

She watched him tiredly, as he ran his hands through his flaxen curls, tugging on them as if trying to wring inspiration from the depths of his mind.

"Careful, or you'll rip out that lovely hair of yours." She warned him, stifling a yawn. He ignored her comment, perhaps not having heard her at all, as he opened up a book and flipped through pages. She noticed, for the first time, wrinkles around his eyes, bloodshot from lack of sleep.

Getting up, she made her way over to the table, leaning against it as she looked across to see what he was reading.

"It's a shame, really..." She said quietly.

"What?" He looked up, a little shocked at her sudden proximity.

"For you to be wasting your time on such a hopeless endeavor."

This caught his attention. He closed his book.

"Why hopeless?" He asked, folding his arms across his chest, leaning back in his chair, waiting for her to humor him.

"You have unrealistic goals, Monsieur."

"Do I?"

Eponine nodded, picking up a book and flipping through it.

"What makes you think you, a bourgeois, have the right to stand up for the poor and malnourished citizens of France when you've no idea about the plight of our daily lives? You haven't a clue about the hardships we deal with, what sort of misfortune we go through? What makes you think any of them will side with you when you go give your rousing speech in the streets with the boys tomorrow, passing out your pathetic pamphlets and flags?" She placed the book down, picked up another. "They all know who you are, where you come from, what sort of privileged life you live."

"A privileged life I gave up for the cause." He corrected her.

"See, you are under the assumption that doing so makes you heroic, but I'd say it makes you rather idiotic. Why on earth did you decide to give up such wealth and luxury when you could've easily managed this rebellion with it as well as without it?" She didn't give him a chance to reply. "Oh, right, because you thought you could fool the people into believing you were one of them. Well, good job on that. I see you've made yourself very believable, especially with your expensive, fashionable attire and educated manner of speech. They're sure to rally behind you now."

He stared at her without realizing his jaw was open, never expecting to hear such things from someone like her.

"And where, might I ask, does this sudden onslaught of animosity come from?"

She shrugged, eyeing his maps.

"Nowhere in particular."

"Well, I'll have you know, Mademoiselle-" He started to retaliate, rising up from his chair, right before Marius burst open his door and rushed downstairs.

"Eponine! I've finished the letter." He exclaimed, waving it in front of her face. It was sealed away in a neat envelope, with only his signature on the front. "Make sure she gets it tonight."

Eponine stared at the piece of paper, reluctantly reaching for it.

"Are you alright, my friend?" Marius asked a dazed looking Enjolras.

"Huh? Yes, quite alright." He muttered, sitting back down in his chair. He glanced at the pained expression on Eponine's face. Putting aside what she'd just said, he turned to Marius. "You expect her to go out on her own this late at night?"

Marius looked at Eponine, as if he hadn't realized it was nighttime and it suddenly just occurred to him.

"Don't worry about me, I know my way around." She quickly said, defending herself.

"One of us should escort you." Enjolras insisted.

"Please, Monsieur. You forget you aren't talking to a proper lady. Not like his dear Cosette." She motioned towards Marius, trying to keep the resentment out of her voice.

"But a lady nonetheless." The young leader made a point to look straight into her eyes before looking back at Marius. "Really, now. This love business has made you lose all your senses, Pontmercy. It's terribly improper for her to go out alone." Eponine was too tired to protest. "Wait until the morning. Then she'll be able to do your bidding." He said the last sentence with a hint of sarcasm.

"You're right, of course." Marius smiled, and reached for Eponine's hand, sending shivers down her spine. "We'll wait till morning."

"Meanwhile, make yourself at home here, Mademoiselle. You're welcome to stay the night, we've plenty of rooms upstairs. It's too late for you to return home, anyway. I trust your parents won't mind you being gone for one night?" Enjolras asked tentatively.

"When have they ever minded?" Eponine muttered to herself, heading over to a nearby divan. "I'll sleep here. This'll do just fine."

"Nonsense. Marius, show her to a room." The leader instructed.

"Come on, 'Ponine." Marius grabbed her by the wrist, to her delight, and led her up the stairs. "You'll forgive me for being so inconsiderate, won't you? I'm afraid I've been rather love-struck and dazed the past few days."

Enjolras was careful to notice the pained look on the poor girl's face as she acknowledged the fact that her beloved's romantic daze had nothing to do with her. He tried to refocus on his plans, but he could not stop thinking about this street urchin who was so wise beyond her years and how, in a matter of five short minutes, managed to open up her mouth and make him question all that he was fighting for.


	2. Let Me Be The First

She found him asleep at the table, resting his head on an open page of a thick book. She couldn't help smiling a little. No, she had never before seen anyone as dedicated as this young man. Walking over to the divan, she picked up a blanket and made her way over to him, carefully draping it over his sleeping figure, hoping not to wake him.

No such luck.

He awoke with a start, grasping her hand, mumbling something incoherent. She laughed and slipped her hand away.

"'Ave no fear, Monsieur. It's only me." She said, taking a seat beside him.

"Eponine?" He mumbled, rubbing the remaining slumber from his eyes.

"Oui. I'm heading out early to deliver Marius's letter." She explained, drawing the letter out of her pocket.

Enjolras watched her through squinted eyes that were still adjusting to daylight.

"I...I don't mean to be impertinent, but...were my eyes deceiving me or were there tears in your eyes last night when you returned from Pontmercy's room?"

Eponine stiffened, an immediate frown on her face.

"'Twas only a trick of the light, Monsieur. I was not crying." She tried to sound sure of herself, but her voice caught, giving her away.

"It's obvious to everyone but the man himself, Mademoiselle. You're in love with him." Enjolras stated. Eponine did not respond, averting his gaze.

_Obvious. Is it really? If everyone else can see it, why can't Marius?_

"Why do you do this to yourself?" He pointed to the letter she held with dirty fingers. "It isn't fair for him to have you pass around declarations of love to another woman. Go and tell him how you feel." He urged.

She finally looked up at him, her eyes watering.

"Not everyone is as brave as you." She said, getting up from the table, heading to the door. She stopped with her hand on the doorknob. "What would he want with me? The son of a nobleman like you. And I, the poor daughter of an inkeeper. There is no future for us." Her voice lowered to a whisper as she shut her eyes tight.

"These class differences are what I hope to eliminate with the rebellion." He said behind her. He got up and walked over to where she stood. "You asked me yesterday what I hoped to accomplish with this seemingly impossible endeavor. I fight for this." He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I fight for a chance, for you, for anyone to be able to love whoever they want to freely. Such a freedom would do away with class systems and hopefully bring equality to all."

Eponine recognized the tone of his voice. That inspiring tone he used when making one of his speeches.

"You deserve this freedom." He made sure she was looking at him. "You criticized me for leaving behind a life of luxury. I'll tell you why I left it. I felt guilt."

He let go of her and walked back to the table.

"Guilt?" Eponine asked, hoping for clarification.

"Guilt that all around me, my fellow men were struggling and I was not, simply because I was fortunate enough to be born into a family of wealth. I never saw the fairness in that." He picked up the blanket left on his chair. "I'm not as blind as you take me for. I walk the same streets as you, I see the suffering. I see the pain. The same pain I see in your eyes. You think you cannot escape this life that you live, a life of petty crime. You think you are not deserving of anything better."

He looked back at her to make sure his words were true. She said nothing, simply staring at him.

"If no one's ever told you, then let me be the first. Eponine, you are a child of God, same as I. That mere fact alone means you are more than worthy of a greater life. You deserve happiness, freedom...love. You're worth that and more." He approached her slowly. "Don't waste your time on someone who cannot see that and does not make you feel that in your very bones."

She did not move from her spot, entranced by his words.

"That is why I'm absolutely confident that, when we go out there to rally the people, they will join our cause. Look at their faces, they all long for freedom."

He was looking out a window, watching people passing by.

"It's a shame..." Eponine whispered to herself as she stared at this man who could move mountains with his tongue, unable to believe that she doubted him all this time.

Such wonderful, beautiful ideas and yet...she couldn't help thinking how, despite all, he would only succeed in leading these young men to their deaths.


	3. The Ripple Effect

General Lamarque was dead.

Enjolras, seeing it as a sign to start their political insurrection, called the men to meet him in the Corinth wine-shop. Tomorrow, during the funeral procession, they would stir the people to revolt. He'd heard word that the King, anticipating an uprising, was planning on dispatching troops throughout Paris. A confrontation was bound to happen and that would, undoubtedly lead to violence. Enjolras knew he had to prepare the men for what could quickly escalate into a bloody battle.

Whilst giving his rousing speech, he noticed a certain young man suspiciously lurking in the back of the room, keeping his head lowered as he listened. He had on a dark, raggedy coat and cap, an interesting contrast among the neat vests and bright jackets that the students around him wore. After Enjolras was done and the men began to mill about, excitedly discussing tomorrow's arrangements, he made his way to the mysterious observer.

As he drew nearer, he recognized the stranger's deep brown eyes, tan skin, and the thin face marked by emaciation.

"Is that...is that you, Mademoiselle Eponine?" He leaned in and whispered. The stranger furrowed his brows and shook his head. Enjolras reached over to take off his cap and dark waves spilled out, revealing a disguised Eponine.

"Please, Monsieur." She snatched the cap and hastily tried to tuck her hair underneath it before anyone else saw.

"What are you doing dressed like that?" She looked up at the unnerving sound of laughter coming from this man who usually looked so serious and pensive.

"I..." She searched for words, for a way to explain herself. "I'm here to fight with the Friends of the ABC."

His smiling and laughter quickly faded at the look of utter determination on her face.

"Mademoiselle...you can't possibly-"

"You asked for volunteers. I'm young, I'm able, and I'm willing." She stood up to her full height.

"As a gentleman, I won't let-"

"I'll be careful, I promise."

"If you're just here for Marius..." He paused, contemplating. With a sigh, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into an empty room, away from the crowd of people.

Eponine looked about her dark surroundings, then back at Enjolras, confusion written all over her face.

"Take a seat." He motioned over to a chair, but she remained standing, crossing her hands over her chest. "I don't think you understand the danger that this situation entails."

"On the contrary, Monsieur. I may perhaps be the only one here tonight who fully grasps the meaning of danger."

He stopped mid-step and turned to her.

"What are you implying?" He couldn't ignore her jab at his pride.

"That even _you_ don't understand what's going to happen tomorrow! You'll all be hopelessly outnumbered, surely you know that. These students will blindly follow you as they have been doing, even as you're leading them to their deaths."

The word "death" slithered it's way through his body, making him shudder.

"They know what they've gotten themselves into." He tried to justify their actions.

"I do not believe so. Listen to them laughing and singing out there, blissfully unaware."

But all the noise, the clinking of glasses, stomping of feet, and loud chatter, seemed to suddenly die away. All that was left was the sound of his own thundering heartbeat drumming in his ears. He slumped into a chair, burying his head in his hands.

"If you knew of the dangers, why did you decide to join us?" He asked with a weary voice.

"I'm poor as dirt, unloved by my own family members. What have I got to lose?"

He couldn't tell if she was kidding around or being completely serious.

"All you men, however, are young, intelligent, and rich. Why waste your precious lives? Oh, wait, no, not a waste. You think you'll win this battle, of course. An impossible feat, but one you all think you can accomplish together."

"I know that we're all going to die." He breathed out, admitting what he'd known all along, silencing Eponine for a moment.

She had never before seen such a look of defeat on his face.

"Then why? Why the speeches? Why all the fighting? Why the revolution when you're bound to lose?" She asked quietly, carefully.

"You don't understand." He ran his hands through his hair like he always did when worrying about something. "We're at the start of something here. I know deep within my heart that France will get the democracy it's been thirsting for. Whether that's going to be a month from today, a year, or a decade. Who knows? The Friends of the ABC...we're like pebbles, throwing ourselves into water that's been still for far too long, hoping to cause a disturbance of some sort. A splash, even of the smallest kind, always causes a ripple effect. And that is our ultimate hope. To _start_ something."

"But you'll die, you'll all-" Her voice caught as she knelt down beside him, choking back tears and imagining gruesome versions of Marius's inevitable death.

"Don't worry over us, my dear. It's not about the Friends of the ABC, anyway. This cause goes beyond us. It's all for people like you. The downtrodden and forsaken. Those who have been rendered mute for so long." He took her hands in his, his own eyes brimming with passionate tears. "We will be their voice, their shout, their cry. What's a handful of men sacrificing their lives for France?"

He hoped with all his heart that she would understand. Eponine watched him quizzically as a grim thought came to her.

"How guilty you must feel...to be responsible for their deaths."

He did not break eye contact, only squeezed her hands harder.

"You've no idea." He breathed out.

And suddenly she could feel the heaviness of the burden that he had to carry alone all this time.

"Well, it's like you said. They know what they've gotten themselves into." She reiterated his words back to him, trying to cheer him up, trying her best to smile.

But they both knew this was not the case. The most elegant words in the world could not hide the plain truth.

* * *

While the others were filling their minds with glorious visions of war and intoxicating dreams of honor and victory, two lone figures sat in an empty room in silence, knowing full well that, come tomorrow, the Corinth wine-shop would most likely be all but empty.


	4. An Angels' Song

**Warning: I'm about to break some hearts. Bear with me and forgive me. It had to be done. It's more tragic and beautiful this way.**

* * *

Enjolras listened as Eponine silently wept beside him, kneeling by his feet.

She wept for the ambitious, yet foolish, young men who were in over their heads.

She wept for their mothers, wives, and daughters who would lose a loved one tomorrow.

But most of all, she wept for Marius. Her one and only love.

She decided that, no matter what, she would go out there and join him in battle.

If he ended up dying, she would be right there next to him. Like Romeo and Juliet, they were in this together.

* * *

"Have you ever been in love, Monsieur?" She asked the leader.

They hadn't left the room, not yet ready to face the jolly faces of their friends for perhaps the last time.

She thought she saw the slightest hint of a blush cross his cheeks as he turned his head to look out a window.

"The only love I've ever known is for my mistress, Patria." He said firmly.

That answer made her smile. Of course, what else did she expect him to say? He was the embodiment of freedom and liberty. There was no room in his heart for anything else. With so many lives he was responsible for, Enjolras could hardly afford the same sort of distractions that men like Marius were free to enjoy.

She wondered if he'd ever allowed any special lady into his life. Had any other girl, besides herself, ever gotten as close to him? Aside from all his grandiose speeches and friendly demeanor, he seemed rather reserved, shy even.

"Really." She mumbled. Had the thought of marriage ever occurred to him when he was younger, busy making plans for his future as a law student like the rest of the men?

"From what I've seen of love, I'd say she's not particularly kind."

"She's quite brutal, actually." Eponine said.

Again, she noticed that look, a mix of pity and compassion in his green eyes.

"If I were to wish you anything, Mademoiselle, it would be for a love that would last a lifetime." He said, taking her hand and kissing it softly.

A wave of sorrow threatened to grab hold of her as she realized he was making his last farewell. She could almost feel her heart sinking inside of her. He didn't know that this was her last day as well.

Oh, how she suddenly wished that things were different. That they'd gotten to know each other sooner, that he would somehow, by the grace of God, survive and live to fall in love with a wonderful lady and eventually start a beautiful family.

"I wish the same for you." Was all she could think to say in reply, as he got up and headed for the door. She did not know anyone more good or more kind.

* * *

The merriment continued with Grantaire opening up a few more bottles of wine, trying to lead the men in a patriotic song. Combeferre was sitting at a table with Bahorel, discussing their philosophical theories concerning revolution. Courfeyrac was trying to console a mopey Marius by suggesting he forget about his Cosette altogether and take up a mistress. Jean Prouvaire was reciting poetry to one of the barmaids and Joly was busy poring over his medical books, studying for his exams next week, not knowing that he wouldn't live long enough to become the doctor he'd dreamed of, let alone live to take his exams. The air carried with it both gaiety and apprehension, as if they all subconsciously knew what awaited them the next day; but all were busy distracting themselves from thinking, or even allowing themselves to consider, the inevitable. It was easier that way.

Meanwhile, in just the other room, where all noise and laughter was muffled and time itself seemed to stand still, there was a young man and girl who stood beside the doorway; the latter of which, before letting the man go, reached up and put a small, dirty hand on his shoulder, standing up on her tip toes to place the lightest of kisses on his cheek. A kiss, barely felt, barely there. A kiss that lingered a moment too long. One that said her last thank you's and goodbye's. A kiss of death.

* * *

Enjolras entered into the crowd, immediately ambushed by his friends, two of which tried to convince him to join a hand wrestling match. Grantaire thrust an open bottle of wine in his hands, urging him to drink to the coming dawn. But the young leader looked past all the smiling faces and found, at last, the sorrowful gaze of Pontmercy. Pontmercy, stuck in a corner, faintly listening to Courfeyrac's rambling.

For the first time, Enjolras felt an unusual mix of conflicting emotions. As he stared at the pitiful face of his forlorn friend, he felt a strange sort of resentment. Here was Marius, whining about a girl he barely knew, completely oblivious to the fact that he'd unknowingly won the heart of a most virtuous and caring creature. A girl who took on the thankless task of delivering letters between both him and his _amoureux_. It astounded Enjolras that such a person, surrounded by despicable parents and terrible circumstances, despite her horrible upbringing, was capable of such undying affection, passionate love, and selflessness. It assured him that everyone, no matter the situation, had the capacity and capability of both doing good and becoming good.

And who was Marius to earn a love like that? A love so virtuous and true? How could he be so blind, how could he not see?

Yet, even so, Enolras stared into those sorrowful eyes and felt a semblance of...similarity.

Marius had fallen deeply in love only to have his heart shattered into pieces. Enjolras was beginning to understand what that might feel like. Could it be? Would he dare compare himself to Marius in this regard? It's not like he'd experienced some great and devastating love affair of his own...But that _kiss_.

_"Who cares about your lonely soul, we strive towards a larger goal..."_

His own words echoed in his mind, words he'd used to scold the lovesick Marius. Now he felt as if someone should be saying the same to him.

He was all too prepared to die for his country and his people. His family had disowned him, his friends would join him and probably die alongside him in this upcoming battle. He didn't need a tie to this world. The last thing he needed was a reason to doubt or someone to regret leaving behind.

He and Eponine shared much more than they both knew This same passionate, selfless, noble love they had both experienced- he for Patria and her for Marius. He couldn't help wondering, if everything had somehow turned out differently, what could have happened had they had the chance to share this love with each other.

* * *

As the night progressed, Enjolras spotted Eponine sitting beside Marius, both of them quiet and solemn, not saying a word. He caught her gaze briefly and could feel the phantom trace of her lips on his cheek again. Only this time, he knew what the kiss was, what it had really meant.

Not love. The time for romance had passed. Their days were numbered and fate was beginning to count down the minutes, the seconds, to their deaths.

The kiss had been the last touch of humanity.  
The last breath before the slow, sinking plunge into a watery abyss.  
The last battle cry, refusing to surrender even as the bullets began to fire.  
A comforting bandage to a fatal wound.  
An angel's song, beckoning the dying into God's light.

That kiss was all they had. Her last farewell.

_"Who cares about your lonely soul, we strive towards a larger goal. Our little lives don't count at all."_


End file.
